Serendipity
by Aliet Faslami
Summary: [Post AC, Pre DoC] There are times when even the lone gunman needs help putting himself together again. [Yuffentine]
1. Surprise

(Note: Post-_Advent Children_, but Pre-_Dirge_. Nothing too earth-shattering, just a thought wandering around in a writer's sleepless brain. And yes, according to what I have read, it _is _possible.)

_Serendipity:  
_–_noun  
__1. __an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.  
__2. __good fortune; luck_

As it often did in winter, it was raining.

It was the heavy, constant variety of rain, the kind that left you drenched in minutes, even while wearing layers upon layers of clothing, some of it waterproof. It was the kind of rain that left you shivering, dreaming of a fire, or, better yet, an extra-large umbrella; to say nothing of the havoc inflicted upon any bits of metal on your person. Once stable pathways turned to ankle-deep mud, tiny rivers making their way down towards any unfortunate, low-lying areas, forming impenetrable, impromptu bogs. Even the elusive golden chocobos balked at crossing these. Just to spite the odd traveler still lingering on the road, a cold wind sliced down from the mountains, driving rain into faces lowered to watch the treacherous pathway. Needless to say, it was not a day most people would pick to travel.

Despite all this, a lone figure trudged through the rain, stopping only when his garments became entangled in the muck. He didn't curse, merely narrowed his eyes at the offending bit, then yanked it out. Deep patches were carefully avoided, though, now and again, his boot sank to the ankle with a decided _splash_. Even then, he made no sound, save a muted groan of irritation as a few determined flecks of mud hit him in the face.

Passing a small hill, he noted the overhang, formed on the far side, by an exposed boulder. With a glance at the sky, he slipped under it, lingering for a few minutes in the scant shelter. A tug pulled his cloak tight around him. He leaned heavily against the boulder, frowning. His muscles twitched, their rendition of shivering. It set his teeth on edge. He hadn't felt this cold in years, hell, he hadn't felt _cold_ in years. The experience unnerved him.

Still, he had a goal, and for once, reflecting was something he had no time for. He started forward again, flinching only slightly as the pound of rain resumed its march across his body. If he stayed too long, darkness would fall, and there were enough creatures lurking on the road in daylight, without the cover of night adding courage to their ranks. Not that he couldn't handle the occasional monstrosity. But a battle would put him even more behind schedule, which began a cycle he preferred not to initiate.

At the crest of yet another hill, he looked up again. The clouds had grown darker, steel gray in the growing twilight, but already the craggy face of Mt. Nibel loomed overhead, it's peak hidden in the cloud cover. The barest hint of a smirk graced his lips. At least one thing was going right. He'd reach the town in less than an hour. Plenty of time to find the inn. With an early rest, he could begin the climb to the summit far earlier than he'd planned originally.

_Just want to make sure… there's nothing else there…_

The splash behind him could have been from the rain. It could have been a late crow finding an interesting rock in the muck. It could have been a larger piece of mud falling off a pile. Regardless, he turned, gun already cocked, and came face to face with a nightmare concoction of a wolf and a lizard. It sprang at him, jaws snapping, only to be turned away with three sharp shots, each finding their mark in a spray of dark blood. With a high-pitched yelp, it fell, writhing on the ground.

He turned back towards the mountains, only to stop again, this time with a restrained sigh. Apparently, not all monsters were content to abide by the rule of darkness. And where you found one wolf, you inevitably found a pack.

A few shots fired behind him dropped two members of the group, approaching stealthily from the rear. The rest took this as their signal and sprang, snarling and hissing. Calmly, he took aim, firing more rounds into the steadily shrinking pack.

One of them slipped through his guard, launching up to sink wet fangs into his neck. Instinctively, he brought his free hand up to protect himself. There was a confused scrabble of claws against his body, some raking shallow furrows through leather, as the beast found its jaws full of gleaming, golden metal, instead of yielding flesh. He flung it off, studying it for a second as its body spun through the air, then coolly dispatched it, the shot sending the body another ten feet.

The two remaining creatures whined at one another, as if trying to decide what to do next. Without any apparent signal, they sprang at him, each from a different angle. He expected that. Turning to one, he fired at it, just enough to bring it down, before lashing out with a kick as he spun to gun down the second. Both fell, twitching, one with a gunshot wound to the head, the other neatly gutted.

Without sparing the creatures another glance, he holstered his weapon, and continued down the road. His attention focused briefly on his boots, the sharp toe of the left stained with black blood and tissue. He preferred the mud. It was much easier to clean.

The shallow cuts on his chest tingled, already beginning to scab over and heal. Unfortunately, the leather would require more than enhanced physiology to repair. And he was damned poor with a needle and thread. As he walked, he closed the buckles on the cloak, securing the worst of the damage behind a relatively intact layer. Nevertheless, the wind worked its way into the small openings, brushing, ice-like, against his skin.

In a way, the bizarre feeling of cold was welcome. As was the rain, and the growing fatigue in his legs. Environmental discomfort distracted him from thinking beyond where he would place his feet on the road. It distracted him from the memories that, even after all this time, pricked tendrils of guilt through his conscience. The battles of recent years were even more of a reprieve than wandering. You couldn't think in a fight—especially not against Jenova's spawn. If you took time out to think, you ended up as a smear of blood and organs against a wall.

So, he kept his musings to the elements, to the physical, burying the guilt down below those thoughts, until there was time and shelter to examine them in.

Behind the clouds, the sun sunk down to the horizon as he stepped into town. Few people were on the streets, and those that did linger, gave him no more than a passing glance. After all, Nibelhiem had seen things far more frightening than he. Its people usually had more on their minds than a wandering gunman. Part of him was thankful for that.

He stepped into the inn, earning a raised eyebrow from the keeper. A few stray gusts of wind followed him, accompanied by rain. This particular inn appeared to double as a bar, as a few men were gathered around a table, drinking, flicking cards back and forth. They looked up as he entered. The innkeeper made a face from behind his counter, a face which only blossomed into a look of dismay when he took note of the puddles following in the wake of the silent guest. For a moment, the innkeeper waited, sizing up his guest. No one else in the lobby spoke.

"I need a room," said the gunman. His voice was low, deep and rough around the edges. He said nothing else, simply stood and waited.

"I can see that," answered the innkeeper. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air. In answer, the gunman revealed his wallet, raising an eyebrow. Sullen at the wordless rebuke, the innkeeper reached below the counter and pulled out a tarnished key. He mumbled directions as the key was accepted, and the silent man headed up the stairs, still tracking in puddles. "Hey!" he called up. "I need a name on this!"

The gunman paused, as if considering. "Valentine," he answered, not even turning his head. With that, he disappeared up the stair.

I------------I

It felt as if only a moment had passed since he shut his eyes. Yet the darkness of the room told him hours had gone by. As always, the dreams had come, haunting him with their "What Ifs" and "If Onlys".

Lifting his head from its rest against his knees, Vincent studied the room and its sparse furnishings through clumps of still-wet hair. It was bare, save for a bed, pushed haphazardly in a corner, and a chest of drawers opposite it. He sat on the wood floor, against the window ledge, having decided against further perturbing the owner by drenching the bed sheets. The cloak, the infamous cloak, hung by a nail from the door, dripping onto his boots. In the darkness, the gleam of metal was muted, yet another thing to be thankful for.

He probably should have changed clothes. Trouble was, spare garments were not at the forefront of his mind when he left Edge. Usually, he could count on dripping dry, but today's soaking proved more stubborn than the usual.

Frowning slightly, he pulled his legs and right arm closer. The claw kept him propped in a sitting position, leaving subtle marks in the floor. He was still shivering. That was odd, and perhaps a bit worrisome. It wasn't like him to be so susceptible to the elements.

Nor was it like him to feel this… "lousy" was the best word for it, probably. His head was heavy, and a vague burning sensation was spreading through his nose. With a sigh, he again rested his head against his knee, allowing his eyes to shut, and his mind to loose itself again to its remorse.

He was completely unaware of the intruder on the roof. It wasn't much of a glaring error, as the figure was doing everything in its power to be stealthy. Even so, someone of Vincent's caliber should have been aware of the prowler.

It crept across the wooden shingles, the cover of darkness hiding it from any casual observers still about at this hour. Its weapons were all wrapped in cloth, preventing the telltale clang of metal on metal from revealing its presence.

An inn wasn't the best place to break into, especially for what the figure sought. However, travelers were bound to pick up interesting things on their journeys, and where one found "interesting things" one usually found the prize. The figure grinned in the darkness. It had scouted the target out from the ground earlier in the evening. All the rooms, save one, appeared occupied. It was this unoccupied room the figure was headed for. All in all, breaking into an empty room was a great deal easier than trying to keep your equipment quiet while people slept. There was no way to tell whether they would be a light sleeper, waking at the slightest gust of wind, or one of the heavy sleepers who needed a Meteor-sized explosion to wake them. Too much risk in the one area the figure was not willing to take risks in.

There was a small overhang on the window it sought. The plan was to hang from this ledge and survey the scene from that position. Thus, if anything were to go wrong, all it had to do was flip back up onto the roof, out of sight.

The figure dropped soundlessly in front of the window, one hand gripping the overhang. Sure enough, the room was dark, no sign of an unwary guest. The figure's free hand sought the long, dull throwing knife it used purely for this purpose. It was even slightly notched from use as an impromptu lock pick. Finding the hilt, the figure eased down onto the narrow ledge. In earlier days, it might have housed a few flower boxes. Now it was empty, providing easy access.

Carefully, silently, the figure slipped the knife into the narrow crack between the two sections of windows. It stuck slightly, and the figure frowned, leaning a little against the panes of glass in an attempt to gain leverage. Too late, the figure felt the window give beneath its hands.

_It's unlocked?_

Strangling the cry of surprise, the figure tried to pinwheel backwards, but kept falling forward, landing in an undignified heap in the lap of one very startled, very unseen, person.

Before the figure could stammer out an explanation, or even right itself, its eyes came to rest on another pair, this one crimson. The long barrel of a gun was planted against the figure's forehead, cocked and waiting for an excuse to fire. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

"Vincent?" the figure squeaked.

"Yuffie." It wasn't a question. The gun eased itself back into its holster. Its owner leaned back against the wall, tacitly putting distance between himself and his unexpected visitor. An arched eyebrow voiced his question: _"What are you doing here?"_

She gave a nervous chuckle, pulling off a rain-slick hood. A worn poncho covered her usual attire, save the tan boots. That aside, she looked no different than she had in Edge earlier that year, ranting and raving against the idiot who dared touch her precious materia. "I was just in the neighborhood and heard you were hanging around!" Yuffie announced. She got to her feet, moving to close off her dramatic exit. "So I came to say 'hi'. And you really gotta learn to lock your windows up! Who knows what kinda crazy people could get in." To punctuate her argument, she slid the latch closed, folding her arms.

Her chatter washed over him, both welcome and irritating at the same time. Part of him told him it was a blessing he did not excel at conversation, as Yuffie could talk enough for three people. How such energy stayed bound up in her small body, Vincent could only begin to fathom. She was talking about the "nasty weather" now, systematically shaking out both hair and raingear, resting her giant shuriken on the floor of the tiny room. As much as he wanted to concentrate on the nonsense, his attention kept wandering as his eyes kept drifting closed. The room ceased to spin when he did so.

Then she turned to him. "Geez, it's cold in here! What kind of dump doesn't have heat? And you could have at least put the light on for me." For a while, she fumbled along the wall until she found the switch. Yellow light flooded the room. "Much better!" She squinted one dark eye. "What're you just sitting there for? Are you all wet?"

Vincent managed a nod.

"Tifa'd kill you if she found out," she informed him, dropping into a crouch to better look at him. "Can't you at least try and dry off a little? You're making another ocean over here." When he didn't answer, she forged on. "I mean, change clothes at least. Hey, where's your cloak?"

Opening an eye, he glanced in the direction of the door. Yuffie followed his gaze. "Oh man, what happened to your boots, Vinnie?" He heard her move in that direction. "Wha'd you do? Gut something with your feet?" There was a soft thud, indicating her inspection of his abused footwear to be at an end. "There's blood and mud and I don't wanna know what else all over these things."

She padded back over, flopping down opposite him, and began unlacing her boots. "You mind if I stay here a while?" she asked. "I'll be gone soon as it stops raining, promise! It's bad for my gear to be out in the wet like this."

The silence he gave in reply must have lasted too long. Yuffie's chatter ceased. She leaned forward, peering into the pale face of her old ally. There were uncharacteristic shadows underneath his eyes, and his skin bore an odd greenish tinge. His eyes were tightly closed. "Hey, Vince?" Her voice was soft. "You don't look so good. You okay?"

A pause.

"You should leave."

Her first impulse was indignation. "What? Why?"

Another, weary pause. "I'm going to be sick."

Yuffie fell backwards a bit, bracing herself before she landed too embarrassingly. "What?" she asked. She thought a moment, then added, "You get sick?"

"Apparently." Leaning on the wall, he slowly stood. Neither moved until Yuffie recovered from her surprise.

"Oh, geez! Um, okay. I'll go out in the hall or something! Good luck!"

She was out the door before he moved again. It was dark in the hallway, her eyes taking their sweet time adjusting. It was quiet too. With a thump, she settled herself against the wall, covering her ears. This wasn't going to be pretty. Yuffie had enough experience with "being sick" to know that much. All those times aboard all those stupid ships, be they air or seagoing, came rushing back to her until she had to fight down her own urge to imitate Vincent.

Which was, she decided, weird. All the time she'd known him, Yuffie had never known the man to show much more beyond the occasional grimace when distressed. And even then, that only came about after being practically gouged through by a stray claw of whatever creature they'd been fighting. In her mind, Vincent's stoic exterior built him up as invincible. Even Cloud had needed a rest after a particularly intense battle. Vincent would just lean against a wall, and… brood. There wasn't another way to say it. His tight-lipped admission a few moments ago through her for a loop.

_Maybe that'll be the end of it_, she thought. _Then there won't be any more creepy and he'll just go back to looking at me funny._ That was how it should be. Her mind wandered again back to her chronic sickness, and she pushed it away. _All the more reason to keep cutting my hair. Can't have someone around all the time—how embarrassing would that be? The Great Ninja Yuffie! Having a puke buddy--…oh man. Oh no, his _hair _Oh ew._

Yuffie let her head drop against her knees, groaning. He was her friend and she'd ducked out on him. Like it or not, he needed her, and she'd dropped him like a fake materia.

Steeling herself, she rose to her feet. "You better not be all disgusting, Vinnie," she called in, cautiously opening the door. "Because I'm coming back." She kept her eyes studiously on the floor. "Sorry about that… I didn't wanna, y'know, be in the way…" She trailed off, lowered eyes catching a glimpse of something sprawled on the floor in a heap of black leather.

"Vincent!"

He was prostrate, eyes shut, dark hair spread in a limp fan behind his head. Yuffie was next to him in a moment, manhandling her taller friend into a sitting position against her. His back now pressed against her chest, wet clothes sticking to her bare midriff. Pressed against her as he was, she could feel him trembling. The sensation frightened her. "Hey!" She contemplated slapping him. "Wake up! Don't make me smack you!" In answer, his head lolled on his neck, eyelids fluttering. "C'mon, Vinnie! Wake up! You're scaring me here!" Shifting his weight, she reached around to pry his eyes open manually. If nothing else, it would annoy him into consciousness.

Involuntarily, her hand drew back as it contacted his skin. It was uncomfortably warm to the touch. "You're burning up!" she exclaimed, not sure whether she was informing him, or trying to convince herself. This was too bizarre. Vincent couldn't be sick. He couldn't be felled by something as simple as a sickness… could he?

As if in response to her surprise, the crimson eyes opened, unfocused and dull. They shut again hastily. For a moment, she feared he'd passed out again, but the stiffening of muscles in his back betrayed him. The claw scraped against the floor, trying to push its owner to his feet. "Oh no you don't!" Yuffie gripped his shoulders tightly. "You're sick, Vincent Valentine! If you think for one second I'm gonna let you go running around and making yourself worse… you're… you're wrong!"

He relaxed, giving in.

"Okay, that's better." She thought for a moment. "Can you stand up okay?"

His head shook slightly. "Room spins." His voice was gruffer than she was used to.

For another moment, Yuffie was silent, thinking. "Here's what we're going to do then," she said. She heard another voice in the back of her head, lecturing a sullen Marlene in the upstairs section of a certain bar in Edge. "We're going to prop you up somewhere, like on the wall or something. And then I'm going to go get you something dry to put on. That'll help."

Keeping her hands on his shoulders, she got her feet under her, preparing to hoist Vincent to his feet. Part of her was happy for his unresponsiveness. He never would have allowed all this contact, had he been healthy. The most she'd ever seen him permit was a hand on his shoulder, and that only sporadically. Though, now that she thought about it, she had seen Marlene hanging off him on more than one occasion. The thought made her grin.

Returning to the present, Yuffie slipped her hands under his arms and gave a sharp tug, standing at the same time. Vincent rose to his knees, then, leaning heavily on her, managed to climb to his feet. He swayed slightly, but remained on his feet. She kept hold of his arm, ready to help wherever she could.

"See! That wasn't so hard!" she said. "How about we prop you up by the bed? That way it's easier to get in it. And you can lean your head on it or something…" She trailed off, eyeing the article in question. His hair was soaked once again, dripping onto both her and the floor. "How'd you manage to get all wet again? You need some air…" Their earlier exchange came back to her. "Oh… geez, Vinnie, I'm sorry."

Another head shake.

She steered him toward the bed. "Not far now, okay? Then you can sleep all you want! Well, you can after I get you some new clothes that is." Carefully, she started setting him down. He would have fallen, had she not grabbed a handful of his shirt. "You're like a big sack of flour! Help me out here, would you? I can't _carry_ you!"

Surprisingly enough, he steadied himself with the claw, wrapping it around the headboard. Together, they lowered him to the floor, Yuffie settling his limbs as best she could. He was all leg, she noted, somewhat taken aback. Underneath the cloak, it was almost impossible to study her friend's proportions. It was odd to see exactly how lanky he was, and she turned her attention away quickly. This whole business was unnerving.

Seeing his head drop onto his chest, Yuffie slipped away. She knew where she needed to go. Again, she found herself grinning. It looked as if her skills wouldn't be wasted tonight after all.

I-----------------I

_In the dream, She is there. _

_She is there, and there is nothing within but his quiet soul. In the dream, She comes to him, white and soft and cool against the fire he suddenly feels across his skin. There is nothing, in the dream, holding him back from Her. There is nothing hanging ominously over their heads… There is no Sin._

_But then, as She grips his arm, running long fingers over a hand not marred by metal, the familiar pain returns. The familiar tug of a life not his own. He feels as if his skin will burst for all the agony. _

_And She looks on, eyes no longer warm, no longer caring. She only watches as he falls apart, as the monster slowly takes over, burning his body away to dust. The world begins to tremble, the monster's form moving with it…_

Someone was shaking him.

The dream was slow to wear off, and he woke with her name on his lips.

"Nope, it's just me, Yuffie." The ninja tilted her head at him, holding an armload of dark clothing. "You doing any better?"

He closed his eyes, a clear "No" in his vocabulary of silence. In truth, it was hard not to slip back into sleep, even with the dream fresh in his mind. He could still feel his face burning, even as the rest of his body shook with cold. His eyes only opened again when he felt small hands working the first clasp of his leathers. Out of reflex, he grabbed her wrist, at the same time confused and stunned by her actions. "What are you…?"

Yuffie withdrew her hand, glaring at him. "Okay, fine," she snapped, folding her arms in a mock-pout. "You do it then. I'm only trying to help!" She scowled at the floor, muttering under her breath. "Like I spend all day thinking about how to get your shirt off. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

In the end, however, she had to help him peel the wet garment off. The myriad of buckles and zippers defeated his feverish fingers. Yuffie then pounced on the pile of ill-gotten clothing, sorting through it to find something to fit reasonably well on her tall friend. Without the black, she noted, Vincent's hair stood out remarkably against the paper-pale of his skin which was marred only by an ugly, circular scar near the center of his chest. The claw looked even stranger now, lacking the proper camouflage of leather. "Here," she said, earlier irritation forgotten. "I know it's not black, but it's all I could grab before that guy came back." She held out a dark blue sweater, smirking. "Need help with this too? Or wanna give it a shot?"

Darkness took him before he could form a reply.

She saw his eyes roll back and she swore. He slumped backwards, sprawled against the bed. "Idiot!" Yuffie grabbed the sweater, once again shoving him around until she managed to tug the sweater over his head. She had to fight with the claw, however, as it kept tangling and snagging. The wet leather was left in a heap beside her. "Couldn't even give me a warning! Just pitches over like it's naptime! Thanks a _ton_, Vincent!"

Sitting back, she could only stare at him for a time. She had no right to be angry with him… but it was all so weird. And rather frightening. Vincent was like Cloud. They didn't break down, they didn't faint. And they certainly didn't need help changing shirts.

"Now what?"

Not surprisingly, Yuffie received no answer. Despite all her bravado, the ninja had relatively little experience with the sick. She supposed she should get him lying down—preferably in bed—but without his help, it was going to be a losing battle.

"I'm going to need help…"

Too bad she appeared to be the only person awake in the whole blessed town. It was rare Yuffie found herself in a position of responsibility—indeed much of her time was spent avoiding it, roaming the planet on a whim. She supposed she could look for a doctor, though, having a stranger poke and prod Vincent was probably the least intelligent course of action. He still had his gun on him after all. Her eyes wandered to her pocket.

"I could… no… it's too late..."

He started mumbling then, dreaming, his voice rough and thick. Yuffie jumped at the sound, and froze. It must be a nightmare, she decided, as he twitched, bringing his arms up limply to protect his face.

Then he cried out, the sound cut off by a sudden spasm of coughing. On the verge of panic, Yuffie grabbed at his arms, trying to restrain him somehow. "Vincent!" she yelled. "Wake up! Come on! Snap out of it! It's okay! Just a dream!" He tensed, as if to throw her off. She planted her feet, cursing. "It's me! It's Yuffie! The one who steals your materia! You're okay… kind of!"

Something in her voice seemed to work. He ceased thrashing and settled for shaking again, body going slack as quickly as it had tensed. Somehow, his head ended up resting against her shoulder, he'd fallen forward this time. His hair slid forward as well, tickling uncomfortably on any bare skin it contacted.

For a long time, she couldn't move. The only sound in the room came from two pairs of lungs, breathing raggedly. "I seriously need help here," she finally grumbled, shifting to reach for her pocket. A battered phone emerged, decorated here and there with the strangest of stickers—most involving faces blowing raspberries.

"Cloud, you better be awake," Yuffie muttered, dialing.

(TBC)


	2. Too Early

(Note: A very big thanks goes out to my buddy on DeviantArt, "IAmLazarus". She elected to help with this section, and wrote Cloud's dialogue—or lack thereof. If you want to give her your own thanks, go visit her page. Thanks also goes out to anyone who has reviewed, or is about to review. Thanks for taking the time!)

Three in the morning was not a good time of night for Cloud Strife. He'd never been particularly adverse to that specific hour, as 6AM reminded him far more of the wake up calls he'd heard every day as a SOLDIER.

Who was _calling _him?

He reached over to the nightstand, night air cold on his bare arm. After a moment of fumbling, he grasped the phone, squinting blearily at the name of the caller.

_Yuffie?_ Cloud let out a breath of exasperation. He almost answered, then thought better of it. _No, too early. Especially for that voice. _It rang again, the tones far too cheery in the darkness. Narrowing his eyes, he flipped it back to the table, pulling a pillow over his head and groaning. Whatever Yuffie wanted to say could wait until he woke up. She'd understand. Despite recent attempts to change the habit, he'd never been one for answering his phone.

The phone continued to ring.

Cloud reached for a spare blanket to pull over his head in addition to the pillow, when a soft sound caught his attention. Someone was shifting around in the room next door… in Tifa's room.

He groped for it again, this time flipping it open. Yuffie's voice could be heard on the other end, chattering away, but he wasn't listening. He set the ringer to "silent" and hung up, flopping back into bed with another irritated sigh.

I--------I

A very unladylike explicative issued from Yuffie's lips.

"You _hung up_!" She shoved her phone back into her pocket, still wishing a hundred horrible curses on the spikey-haired blonde. "I can't believe you! Of all the…" She quieted, glancing over at her friend-turned-patient. Vincent remained unconscious, however, she'd managed to get him to lean back against the bed this time, with only his shoulder brushing hers. She'd tried moving, but he only slumped over onto the floor.

Her dark eyes came to rest on his pocket.

"_Where can I buy a phone?"_

The gruff words came back to her and she grinned. "Sorry buddy," she said, cautiously sliding a hand into his pocket. The last thing she wanted was for him to wake up with her in such a compromising position. Thankfully, he did not stir, even as she pulled the black device free. It still looked new.

Flipping it open, she cycled through the numbers, noting glumly that none of them were tagged with names. "You and your loner complex," she grumbled.

It took time, but with her phone as a reference, she located Cloud's number once more. "Maybe you'll pick up _now_," she snickered.

I--------I

The phone on Clouds nightstand vibrated. His was a fairly heavy sleeper and so did not notice, at least until it began to move towards the end of the stand. The whole table vibrated then as the phone suddenly fell. A quick hand caught it in mid air.

Again, his eyes squinted. _Vincent?_ It had to be a wrong number—caller ID or no. Annoyance was overcome by curiosity, and even a little worry. He didn't want to put up with this, but Vincent would never call unless it was important.

He flipped the phone open. "Vince?" he said in a quite and doubtful voice.

"You got some nerve hanging up on me!"

The raging voice on the other end was definitely not his stoic companion's. Cloud's head sank down into the pillow. "I'm hanging up _now_."

"No no no!" The words blurred together into one long negative. "Don't! I need your help!"

He paused, waiting for her to continue. It was just long enough to spur her into frustration.

"What is _with _all of you guys? Strong silent types… give me a break! You annoy the heck outta me!" Another pause, this time on her end. "Say something already! I call and say I need help and you just _look _at your phone? Come on Cloud! Tell me you're on your way or something!"

His reply was somewhere between a scoff and a short, terse laugh.

"Oh that's nice. Good one, Cloud. Laugh away," she snapped. "And, hey, aren't you even a little bit curious why I've got Tall, Dark and Broody's phone?" Some of the panic had receded from her voice. She sounded more like Yuffie.

"What did you do now?"

"I didn't do _anything_! Heck, you should probably be thanking me instead of accusing me!"

Her voice was loud over the phone, enough so to possibly wake one of the orphans in the house, and then, Tifa. He lowered his voice a bit to give Yuffie a hint. It wouldn't do to wake the whole place. "Fine," he murmured. "Then, what's going on?"

She hesitated. "It's… It's Vincent."

Cloud frowned. "Yuffie," he began, his voice more stern. "Is he okay?"

"Um… Not really." Muffled sounds of shifting came over the phone, sounds of someone repositioning themselves.

Now he sat up. "What do you mean 'not really'?" He glanced over his shoulder, realizing he had raised his voice. He thought he heard stirring again.

"Well... you see... he's kinda... passed out right now."

"Vincent doesn't drink." He relaxed slightly. Maybe it wasn't anything serious after all.

"I don't mean drunk! I mean like… he fainted." Yuffie's voice fell, taking on a worried tone. "I think he's real sick, Cloud."

Well that was unexpected. He paused again, mulling it over. "What exactly is wrong with him?"

She listed off the symptoms, voice faltering until one could almost hear her fidget. "He's got a fever... and he's dizzy. Makes me haul him around like a big sack of flour. And then he... y'know... got... _sick_. Out the window, I think." Silence for a beat. "Now he's passed out... With nasty dreams."

"Sounds like a cold. Really bad one." He gave another odd mix of a scoff and a laugh, rising to his feet. He paced the room, quietly. It was easier to think that way. "I think that's the only kind that could take _him_."

Yuffie's next words were soft and small, at odds with her earlier tirades. "I need help, Cloud… I don't know what to do…"

Again, there was a pause. Cloud propped his elbow up against the doorframe, leaned his head on his hand, and stared out into the hall. "Listen, Yuffie… I don't know wh-"

"Cloud...please!"

A new voice cut in, clearing its throat. He looked up, coming face-to-face with a bleary-eyed Tifa. She folded her arms, raising a questioning eyebrow. Behind her, Denzel yawned, heading back to his room after accomplishing his task of tattling on Cloud. "What's wrong?" she asked simply, stifling a yawn herself. "I heard Yuffie's yelling all the way from my room."

In response, a squeal of "_Tifa!_" arose from Cloud's phone. He ignored it.

"What is it?" She approached him, bare feet quiet in the dark hall. It had to be important. Cloud never answered his phone. And when he did, he usually didn't wear such a serious face—more often it was blank.

An excited babble came again from the phone. It sounded suspiciously like _"Tifa, help!"_ She raised an eyebrow.

"You should go back to bed," was all he said.

Tifa scoffed. "So are you. Put it on speaker," she told him, moving past the door, into his room. "She's yelling at me, after all." He turned to face her, still leaning in the doorway, though his back was now to the hallway.

With a flick of his finger, Yuffie's familiar chatter flooded the room. "Am I on speaker now?" She didn't pause for conformation. "Okay, good. Tifa, you can help!"

"I'll try."

"Okay, this is weird… um… lemme say ask this first. That way maybe you won't be too freaked out: What does Cloud do when he's sick?"

Cloud's response was cut off as Tifa chuckled. "He hides it," she said. This earned a burst of irritation from the phone. He shut his mouth, running a hand through his hair. Blue eyes locked, frowning, on the ground. Then they snapped up, focusing on Tifa. It was one of his more serious expressions, the kind that said: _we don't have time for this._

"So I was right, something _is_ wrong." Tifa sat on the bed, resting her arms on her knees. "Tell me." Her voice dropped to her gentle range, the tone she took with the orphans.

"Something's going on with Vincent," Cloud answered, sliding a hand over the phone's speakers. Yuffie had quieted, but muttered to something in the background, distracting him.

Tifa blinked. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Is he in trouble?"

"No." Cloud shook his head. "Yuffie says he's sick."

Silence reigned. "Is that what she meant by 'weird'?" she asked, turning the idea over in her head. "I guess she's right… I didn't think he… I mean with everything that happened…" She propped her chin in her hands. "So, I guess that's why she was yelling for help, huh?"

"_I'm still here, you know!" _came the tinny voice of the girl in question, oddly garbled by Cloud's hand over the speaker.

Both looked toward the phone, as if surprised that Yuffie was, indeed, still on the other end. "What do you need us to do?" asked Tifa, coming to Cloud's side. It was easier to hear from there. For his part, he held the device out between them.

"Guys, I'm high and dry here! Any advice would be good!" Dull thuds followed her voice—she was pacing. "I'm worried about him…"

"Hm." Tifa's brow creased. "I would make sure he sleeps, for starters—" She paused to allow for Yuffie's noise of disbelief. "You heard me. You want my help, you're going to take it, no comments." Silence. "Okay. Sleep, water, and get some cloth, dip it in cold water and drape his forehead in it, if he has a fever."

"Gotcha!" answered the girl. "I know where I can get that stuff too… But…" Her cheer faded as quickly as it sprung up. "What if that's not enough?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… what if that doesn't work? I tried the potion shop already…" The worry in her voice faded into indignation. "But the big jerk had padlocks bigger than my head!" She paused. Tifa held her breath, partially dreading what would come from this bout of thought.

"Hey, Cloud?" In answer, the blonde tipped his head slightly closer to the phone. "What about the… y'know… the spring? In the church? Could you bring us some of that? We're just in Nibelhiem… it's not that far away and…"

Tifa cut her off. "Yuffie! It's the Lifestream! Not a pharmacy!" she scolded. She caught sight of the look in Cloud's eye and almost winced. Time to diffuse the situation. "It's _Vincent_ we're talking about! He can't be that bad off."

"Tifa's right," murmured Cloud. "Besides, we've only seen it work on Geostigma."

There was another indignant sound from the phone. "We could at least try!" Yuffie growled. "Aeris never let us down before!"

Another silence fell over the two, this one heavier than the last. Tifa swallowed, feeling as if she should say something, but nothing came. She couldn't see Cloud's face from where she stood. Working past her frozen throat, she summoned her courage to speak, but a voice from behind distracted her.

"Tifa? Why does Yuffie want the water?"

She turned, startled, and spotted the small form in the doorway. Her heart sank. Marlene looked up at her, small brow furrowed in thought. "You should be in bed, sweetie," Tifa said, kneeling.

"Yuffie's loud," the child announced, coming forward to embrace Tifa. "And woke me up." Dark eyes glanced towards the phone. "Is the water for Vincent?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You're loud too, Tifa," said Marlene, matter-of-factly. "I heard you say his name."

A faint blush crept into the older woman's cheeks. "Yeah," she finally conceded. "It's for Vincent."

Marlene's face took on a look of concern, then fear. "He's okay, right?" She looked towards Cloud, briefly, then back at Tifa, clutching her nightshirt. "He's not sick like Denzel and Cloud were, is he?"

Mentally cursing Yuffie's voice with every one of Cid's favorite sayings, Tifa held the child tight for a moment, shushing her. "No, sweetie, he's not," she soothed. "He'll be okay."

"Let's try it."

Tifa looked up, surprised by the sudden, terse words. Over the phone, Yuffie celebrated, describing the inn between bouts of jubilation. Cloud looked down at her—no, at Marlene, and nodded briefly, his decision made. He picked up his shirt from where it lay on the ground, then headed out into the hall. "I'll tell Vincent you said 'hello', Marlene," he said over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Cloud!" Yuffie practically shouted. He winced. She was still on speaker.

He grunted, then paused on the stairs. "Yuffie?"

"Yeah?"

"Why not first try all that materia you have…? All that materia… in the lock box?"

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Oh yeah! Um... you didn't want that back, did you? Because, I could hang onto it for a while longer if you wanted..." He could almost hear her toying with it as she spoke.

"No." His voice was flat, toneless.

"Geez, fine, fine. You can have it back. Most of it's boring anyway."

He failed to rise to the barb. "I'll see you in the morning then," he said, and hung up.

Tifa joined him shortly in the garage, holding a blanket around her shoulders. He slid his goggles on, and she melted from view in the dimness. Marlene was nowhere to be seen, having been presumably sent back to bed. He nodded to her, and she smiled back. "Be careful!" she called.

Another nod. Any words would have been drowned out as _Fenrir_'s engine gunned, speeding its rider away in the steely, predawn light.

I---------I

"Y'know, for someone who has no torso, you're really heavy."

Not surprisingly, she received no answer. She was perched on the edge of the bed, catching her breath. It had been a feat to haul her taller comrade into even the low, rickety bed. Yuffie was just thankful he'd removed his boots. She really didn't want to lose an eye to those things. Throughout her manhandling, he'd only stirred once or twice, never fully waking. His breath was slow, occasionally ragged, and it bothered her. At least it didn't look as if he was dreaming again.

She bounced a bit in place, thinking. It was still dark, and there were still things she needed to… pick up… before Cloud arrived. He'd said "morning", which, in typical Cloud fashion, left nothing to certainty.

"Might as well get started!" she told the air, hopping off the bed in a smooth motion.

In response to her movement, Vincent shifted. He inhaled sharply, which only resulted in a spasm of coughing. Yuffie froze. She was torn. If she left, who knew what would happen to him. If she didn't, there wouldn't be anything she could do besides sit in the dark and wait for Cloud.

Her eyes came to rest on her pile of belongings, specifically a bulging pouch, draped on her shuriken. Maybe it would work… it couldn't hurt to try. If it didn't cure him, it might, at least, help.

It was a good plan, and she would have been out the door in a matter of minutes, had the abused pouch not chosen that moment to let its seams run. Before Yuffie could dive to intercept them, materia spilled out, rolling in all directions with a clatter. She swore, and scrambled to collect them. A few rolled under her feet. Before she noticed, despite pin-wheeling her arms, she had fallen flat on her face. Cursing colorfully, she remained in that position, shooing the materia back into a corner.

As she worked, a low sound reached her ears. Confused, she looked around, trying to locate the source. When she found it, she nearly fell back to the ground in shock. Red eyes stared back at her, glazed and feverish. Vincent was awake, then… but…

"Are you… _laughing_?" she squeaked.

His laugh wasn't bad, she had to admit. Deep, low in his throat, it sounded rough and unused, but it grew on her. And it continued to do so as he showed no signs of stopping. As much as she was beginning to enjoy it, the strangeness was more than a little creepy.

"I… guess you saw that, huh?" Yuffie asked, feigning a smile. _He's delirious!_ her mind gibbered. He didn't answer, just kept laughing. The longer it went on, the more worried she became. It had to be the fever. Vincent didn't _do_ humor. Irony, he would only participate in occasionally. Humor was as taboo as it got. "So… does this mean you're feeling better?"

"Cloud's materia?" The hoarse words were choppy, vying for space with his sudden fit of mirth.

"Uh, yeah." Yuffie rubbed the back of her neck, nervous. "He's gonna come pick it up… eventually. I kinda forgot to give it back…" She picked out a gleaming, green orb, turning it over in her hands. "You didn't answer my question, Vince."

He didn't seem to hear her. "Don't break it," he rasped.

Materia in hand, she stood, approaching him. "Are you even listening to me?' she asked. "Do you hear me?" Looking down, she saw his eyes slide shut, the flicker of a smirk lingering on his lips. "Great. You're asleep again." She sighed. "You're lucky I like you, Vince. This is harder than I thought."

She slid the materia into an empty slot on her wristband. It fell into place with a satisfying "click". She held her hands over him, preparing to summon the healing properties of the materia. Then stopped.

…_How did Aeris make this thing work again?_

The others, understandably so, had never given her the opportunity to get her hands on any Cure Materia during their travels. Tifa took up the burden instead, leaving Yuffie with her barrage of offensive spells—not that she'd minded at the time. However, there wasn't much a fire spell could do in her current situation. Save for burning down the inn.

She tried focusing on the materia, coaxing it to release its spell. It worked on the others. Logic dictated it would work on this. To her surprise, cool green light drifted across her fingers, emanating from the orb in her wristband. Yuffie grinned. "Not as hard as they make it look," she said.

Trying to be careful, she held her hand in Vincent's vague direction, half expecting it not to work. She was pleasantly surprised to see the green light center on his chest, fading on contact. That had to be a good sign. It was an even better sign as, while she watched, his breathing eased, and the shadows beneath his eyes grew shallower. Victorious, she broke concentration.

The magic left her tired, as it always did, but elated. She felt as if she could cartwheel across a rooftop, accompanied by a few handsprings.

_Actually… that might not be a bad idea…_

"I'll be right back," she told him. As an afterthought, she pulled the blanket up higher, to keep any drafts away. "Don't go anywhere!"

Collecting the necessary tools, Yuffie ducked out the window, careful to close it behind her.

(Cloud is a bastard to write dialogue for. On that note: TBC)


	3. Phobia

( Note: I bit the bullet. Wasn't going to make this a Yuffentine, but that's the way things turned out! Also, this chapter went in a much more serious direction than I'd intended. Hmm. Odd that. Hopefully things will lighten up for the next chapter! Thanks again for the reviews, they are all appreciated! )

* * *

Just before dawn fully broke, she was back. The materia high had worn off somewhere between the third business and the inn, leaving her groggy with a missed night of sleep. To make matters worse, it appeared her cure spell had worn off Vincent as well. He was back to labored breathing and coughing spasms.

She flopped to the floor, tilting her head back to rest on the bed. "Guess even materia can't cure a cold," she grumbled. At least things hadn't gotten worse in her absence than they had been before she'd left. Not wanting to stand, even the floor felt comfortable, she sorted through her loot.

Bottles of water, one of fruit juice, a slightly stale loaf of bread, some apples, a tin cup and bowl, and a patched blanket were sorted into various piles on the ground in front of her. There were a few small trinkets, items she couldn't very well leave unguarded for someone else to find, gracing her pockets, but they really weren't important for her current predicament. Yuffie surveyed her haul with a tired smile. This should keep her until Cloud dragged his lazy rear into town.

Peeling off her boots, she stifled a groan. Maybe she could convince Cloud to hang around, at least for a little while, at least long enough to let her take a quick nap. Tired as she was, she didn't want to leave Vincent unattended.

"He might try and run off," she told her boots.

_Or get worse_, he mind added, despite her threats against it, should it voice that fear. _He can't get worse_, she told it, irritably. _I'm not gonna let him. I mean, Tifa's right. It's _Vincent_. He'd die of embarrassment if a _cold_ offed him. _Another thought reared its ugly head, birthed courtesy of Marlene's frightened question earlier. _And that's all it is. A cold. It's not… that… _

_That_ had all but disappeared. And, were it _that_, Cloud was on his way, bearing the promised spring water.

_He'll be fine… right?_

Yuffie heaved herself to her feet, picking up a bottle of water. All she needed to do was get him conscious again. Then he could start healing. That was always the way it went. People passed out for a while, then woke up and were well on their way to recovery. She glanced down at him, then back at the bottle in her hand.

_How'm I supposed to make him drink… when he's not awake…? _

Maybe if she shook him. Maybe then he'd wake just enough to drink. Tifa said that would help. Or she could prop him up and hope gravity took its course. A thought occurred to her. Why not both?

Setting the water on the floor, she leaned down, taking hold of his shoulders.

I----------I

_Again._

_He has failed again._

_That is all he knows. _

_He does not know the how, the why, or the repercussions, save that there is blood. Again, there is blood. The first time, it was his, innocents', Hers. Now, he does not know whose it is, but the scent of copper floods the air. He grasps toward the darkness, as if something out there will wash away the sticky, thick and drying substance from his hands. _

_Nothing reaches back. Not even the darkness stirs at the passing of his hands. He is alone, and the weight of that knowledge is crushing again upon him. _

_He had not wanted to fail. Not again. Not ever. There were things to protect, people to look after. They were all so strong, so self-assured. Nothing should have gone wrong this time. And yet, the all-consuming realization that he has swarms him, devouring the shreds of him that scream out in confusion. Dimly, he recognizes the screams as those from his throat. _

_He is screaming, covering his head, trying to run, crawl, limp away from this beast that grows up behind him, reaching for him. The shadow of his failure grasps at him, pulling him to the yawning, open ground. He tries to lunge forward, to take hold of anything that does not give way. And still he falls._

_Then the pain begins, fire in his chest, filling him from the inside out. He feels as if he is drowning. Guilt is suffocating him, standing overhead with leering eyes and grinning fangs. Strange, it looked human before. He coughs violently, shaking his body up and down its length. _

_It is so cold here. He manages to look around and sees nothing but darkness once again. No blood, no light. Only empty, far-reaching black. He is alone, and, for the first time, he is fearful. He tries one last time to reach out, to tell himself he is not alone, he has not truly failed._

_His hands clench around something solid. Relief boarding on madness floods him. This thing is here, he can dig his fingers into it. He pulls it to his chest. He wants it to tell him, though he knows it will not, that he has not done as he perceives, that there is still something that can be done. Something that can be saved._

_He collapses back into soft, yielding gray._

His eyes opened.

I---------I

"Vincent!"

There hadn't been a warning this time. One minute she had him balanced precariously in a sitting position, and was reaching for a bottle. The next, his body bucked, and she grabbed for him, lest he fall off the bed. He was dreaming again. That was the only explanation for the croaking screams.

"Wake up! Vincent!"

It was all she could do to hold onto him. Even in this state, he was stronger than she was. He pulled away whenever she grasped him. Somehow, thankfully, he stayed upright. Voices drifted in from the hall. Someone pounded on the door, demanding to know what was going on. Yuffie didn't spare it a look. Her attention was focused entirely on him.

"It's a dream, Vincent! Wake up already!"

She didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned further when the screams stopped, smothered by coughing. At least he'd ceased thrashing. Taking a deep breath, Yuffie slid her hands from his shoulders, preparing herself to calm the crowd outside.

It happened so fast.

She wasn't sure what had occurred at first. All her brain could pick up was the fact that something had its arms wrapped tightly around her, pinning her against it. She couldn't see, and let out a small gasp of surprise and pain. Something dug into her shoulder, five hot pricks in bare flesh. Her breath blew aside strands of long, black hair.

_What the…?_

Then it dawned on her.

_This had better be one amazing nightmare_. _Otherwise, I swear I'm going to hit him. Cold or no, I'm hitting him. With his stupid pointy boots._

If it weren't for the claw currently gouging holes into her shoulder blade, she would have been fairly comfortable. He wasn't as bony as she'd thought. His heart was racing through his chest—a result, she hoped, of the dreams—body trembling with the effort of holding them both upright. Carefully, she tried to pull back, trying to somehow work her arms out of his grasp. In response, he tightened his hold, claw and all.

"Vincent…" she began, pulling back as best she could. "Y'need to wake up… and let go… That hurts…"

Much to her shock, he went limp, sending both of them crashing to the floor, with Yuffie pinned beneath him. She swore. At least the claw was no longer embedded in her back. She wiggled backwards. Outside, someone was still knocking, now curious about the crash.

"It's fine!" she yelled. "Just knocked over our luggage!"

That seemed to satisfy whoever it was. They gave a low, nasty chuckle, then walked away. Yuffie seethed. _Perverts_. She shoved Vincent with one hand, using the other to worm her way out from under him. His head lolled, eyes fluttering. _Oh no_. Her mind raced. _No, no! Don't wake up yet! Not while…_

His eyes opened.

"M-morning, Vinnie," she stammered, a nervous smile spreading on her face. "Sleep okay…?"

He blinked, something akin to a frown forming on his face. A flicker of confusion flashed in his eyes.

"Mind… sitting up?" she asked. "You're kinda heavy…"

Carefully, he hauled himself back up onto the bed, still looking at her with the same, oddly puzzled gaze. She made a show of dusting herself off, as if nothing had happened. "You were dreaming. _Again_," she informed him, twisting to make sure her shorts were intact. "And then you tackled me. What kinda weird stuff is going on in your head anyway?" She turned to pick up the dropped water. "Anyway, how're you holding up? I tried some materia, but it didn't really work too well."

When she turned back to him, the look in his eyes cut off anything else she was going to say. Red eyes flicked down to the claw, now settled harmlessly beside him, then back to her. More specifically, to her shoulders. She'd forgotten the cuts.

"Oh that!" Yuffie shrugged, working up a smirk for him. "It's nothing. My fault really. See, I fell on it when we landed on the floor." Rolling her eyes, she held out the bottle. "You should get it filed down or something."

"I'm sorry."

For a moment, she wasn't sure he'd actually spoken. Then it registered, and she sighed. "For what?" she asked. Since he'd made no move to take the offered drink, she settled beside him on the bed. "Being sick? Having crazy dreams?" The bottle was dropped in his lap. "Not like you can help that, Vinnie."

He turned his head to look at her, but didn't speak again. Apparently, there were limits, even with the illness loosening his tongue. They were quiet for a time, Yuffie pointedly eyeing the bottle, Vincent pointedly not looking at his hands. She wasn't sure what they were waiting for. Maybe something to break the tension she didn't quite understand. He suddenly swayed in place, and she held out a hand to steady him.

Vincent pulled back, the simple movement landing him flopped against he headboard.

_Oh, so that's what this is about. Of all the pig-headed…_

"Vince, I'm tired too," she groaned, letting her head hang. "I've been up all night, so I don't really wanna deal with your untouchable-ness right now, okay?" She slid off the bed. It suddenly felt a lot later than it was. He was being so ungrateful. It wasn't as if she was under an obligation to hang around musty old Nibelheim, missing out on sleep in favor of keeping him alive.

_Then again… He's my friend. Sort of. You don't run out on your friends… _

"Drink that water before Cloud shows up. I'm gonna catch it from Tifa if you don't."

"Cloud is coming?"

Yuffie stifled a yawn. "Yep. Bringing somethin' to fix you, because when I called him, man, you were in bad shape." She ventured a glance up at him. "Speaking of which… I'm gonna ask you again: How're you feeling?"

He considered this for a moment, studiously examining the wall. "Fine," he said finally.

"Liar."

Now Vincent glanced down at her, meeting accusing, dark eyes. "What?"

"You're a liar," she said again. "And you're just like Cloud. If you're really 'fine', why aren't you already gone?"

This time, he didn't answer, just braced his arms, starting to heave himself to his feet. It was past time to be gone. He'd wanted to have the climb finished by now. At this rate, he would have to pass the night on the slopes, not something even he fancied.

However, he began reconsidering the entire effort as he stood. Nothing had changed from the night previous, if anything, it was colder and the room spun faster. He put a hand out to steady himself, then leaned against the wall, breathing heavily from even that small exertion. Each inhalation rasped, painful, in his chest. Maybe Yuffie was right. Maybe he was "in bad shape". Vincent started to sink back down—the bed sounded like a miracle—opening his mouth to concede defeat.

Then stopped.

Angry red scrapes marred her bare shoulder, glaring at him more fiercely than the girl herself. All at once, the weight of the too-vivid dream crashed back down.

Then again… maybe it would be better to heal on his own, far away from something breakable. He made his unsteady way toward the door to collect his belongings, only to feel a tug on his arm.

"You are unbelievable!"

"What…?"

Yuffie stood now, holding onto him, feet planted. Her face was set in a glower that, he felt, should have felled even the most determined of warriors. "You get your ass back to bed," she said. "And we're gonna wait here until you can walk across a room without falling over."

His eyes fell on the claw, hanging innocuously in her grasp. They were minute, but they were there—tiny dots of crimson clinging to the tips. "I'll be fine," he said.

"Then let me come too." She didn't let go.

He shook his head. "I should do this alone."

Her fingers dug into his arm, refusing to release him. "And what happens if you pass out again, huh?" she demanded. "Who's going to pull your face out of the mud?"

No response. Vincent only shook his head again, weaving a bit with the motion.

"Don't give me that!" She tried to haul him backwards, but gained no ground. "Last time you conked out, you didn't wake up all night! Only thing you did was scream a lot. You're not in any shape to go running around, doing who knows what." Again, the tried moving. "Now cut the stoic act and lie… down!"

A last tug found her fingers slipping. She lost her grip and staggered backwards. He took a step forward, reaching for the cloak. Frustration mounted. Didn't he care that she'd been worried sick? That she'd gone to embarrassing lengths to get help? What was wrong with him?

Dull pain in her shoulder answered the question.

"I told you!" she shouted, the aggravation getting the best of her. "I told you that wasn't your fault! You didn't hurt me, Vincent! And you're not going to! Especially if all you're doing is sitting in bed!"

He paused in the act of collecting his things. It was enough. She took a deep breath, and launched into a tirade, unloading all the fear, all the uncertainty and weariness of the night past.

"And even if it was your fault, I wouldn't care! You're my friend, and you're in trouble. I couldn't blame you for something like that!" Yuffie advanced on him, clenching her fists. "Don't you get it? I care about you, Vincent! I wouldn't be here if I didn't! I wouldn't have stayed up all night if I didn't! I wouldn't have gotten Cloud's ass out of bed if I were… I dunno, scared of you or something."

Looking somewhat startled, he turned to face her, blinking.

She looked up at him, trying desperately to keep from hitting him. "I want to help you," she said. The look in her eye was at definite odds with that statement. "You gotta let me do that. Otherwise… Otherwise I'm worried I'll lose you." Her voice had dropped, as the root of the anger laid itself bare. She covered it quickly with more shouting, in typical Yuffie fashion. "It's bad enough we lost Aeris! I'm not gonna sit around and let you go off when something like that might happen again!"

Slowly, still seeming shell-shocked, he murmured, "I don't want you to worry over me."

The glare returned, defiant this time "Then stay here. I'll sit over in the corner, just in case. You won't even have to look at me."

"I…"

He didn't even have time to utter the refusal. Yuffie stormed past him, throwing open the door.

"Why can't you just let me, let _someone_ in? Just this once! Just let me help!" she shouted before she slammed the door, the sound footsteps diminishing down the stairs. Muted curses followed her.

In the sudden silence of the room, his mind fuzzily tried to process what had just happened. He could understand that she was angry, and that something he'd done—or rather neglected to do—had sparked the explosion. She also seemed to be needlessly concerned about his mortality.

He scoffed inwardly. After all that had happened to him, he wasn't about to drop dead at her feet, especially not due to a minor condition such as his current state. The way things were, she was much more likely to fall victim to irreparable damage than he. Out of all of them, she was the reckless one, the one who always leapt before she looked—so to speak—the one who, by default, needed the most looking after, whether any of them realized it or not.

_Then again… she isn't the one we lost… _

That day had hit them all harder than most of them cared to admit. Though it weighed far heavier upon one than the others, none of them were spared the sting of loss. They'd continued to fight, all but one appearing to come through the pain with minimal scarring. Yet, none of them forgot. None of them could.

Her words drifted back to him, laid over the image of the marks he'd inadvertently placed on her. And there, their respective problems lay side by side, looking back at him with full force. Vincent leaned against the wall, forcing himself to take a breath.

They were both afraid.

And, when examined closer, they both feared the very same thing, at least, on a basic level. He rested his head in hand, wandering in thought. The solution, he decided, was a very simple one, albeit one he disliked. It would, potentially, place her in a dangerous situation—with him in a state in which control was not the easiest thing to keep hold of.

But… who was he to withhold redemption—of a sort? How much of a hypocrite would he be then? It had in no way been her fault, even if her fear told her otherwise. If he denied her atonement for her perceived failure, no matter how trivial it truly was, there would be no further living with himself.

Besides, Vincent concluded, moving into the hall, it was hard to focus on mountain climbing when all your effort was concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps he did need someone's aid after all. The barely-dry cloak was heavy as lead in his hand, and he gripped the railing for dear life as he descended the stairs after her. It seemed the illness had drained his strength so that even the small effort of remaining conscious taxed him dangerously.

Knowing Yuffie, she would sulk until something distracted her—usually something of the magical variety. If he didn't catch up to her, he would never get the chance to speak rationally with the girl. No one was in the lobby at the early hour, so he opened the door, bare feet padding out onto the narrow doorstep.

Outside, the dawn had given way to true morning, sky already dark and dripping rain once more. Morning's chill, compounded by the wind still whipping down off the mountains, sliced into him. He was shivering again in moments. The street was as deserted as the inn, even the early risers electing to stay in bed at a glace out their windows.

As luck would have it, the girl had not gone far. She was perched on a crate, just barely out from under the slight overhang of the doorway, face buried in her drawn-up legs. The drizzle had begun plastering her short, dark hair to her head, leaving a dusting of moisture across her skin. He leaned awkwardly against the wall, waiting for her to notice him. When she failed to do so, Vincent, hesitating a beat, tossed the cloak over her, not wanting to leave what shelter he had.

She jumped a little, obviously not expecting the gesture. As she calmed, she pulled it around her, peering out at him from behind the frayed edges. "So," she said, slowly. "I guess you're staying?"

He nodded.

They were silent for a time.

"Hey, Vinnie?"

She wouldn't continue until he looked down at her again. "I… About all that stuff earlier…" Her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry. Just tired, I guess. People do stupid things like that when they're cranky. I just wish…" she trailed off.

"Yuffie."

The sound of her name caused her to jump nearly as much as the cloak had. She saw his jaw working, as if the words were stuck somewhere in his throat. "Yeah?" she ventured. Wouldn't hurt to prompt him along. Maybe he was about to apologize…

"Come back upstairs," said Vincent simply.

She almost threw his cloak back at him. Something stopped her, and it took her some time to figure out what exactly it was. Behind that phrase, he spoke an entirely different one—the proof was in his posture, sagging against the wall, and in his red eyes, glazing and exhausted.

_I need your help…_ he was saying. It was enough.

A nearly triumphant grin cracked across her face. She scrambled down off the crate, not bothering to return the cloak, and gripped his arm. He did not resist, in fact, he leaned on her as if she were nothing more than a convenient, moving, wall. They headed back inside, taking the stairs slowly, cautiously, with Vincent growing clumsier in his step as they moved.

"You really shouldn't have been up for so long," she grumbled. "Serves you right."

Naturally, he was silent. Yuffie bit her lip and hauled.

They made it, barely. She hardly had time to dump him back in bed before he drifted away again, muscles shivering violently, breath coming in ragged gasps. Frowning heavily, she began the hurried work with water and cloth, trying to undo the damage of too much motion too soon.

"You are so lucky I like you," she told him. "Or you'd be in trouble." She replaced the cloth on his face with a fresh, cool one, rolling her eyes. "Or at least… more trouble."

The morning fled, and he did not wake.

* * *

(Note: See what I mean?) 


	4. Downhill

(Notes: Once again, all the credit for the Cloud dialogue, and most of his scenes, goes out to "IAmLazarus"! And thanks goes out to you, the readers and reviewers. There will be one chapter left after this, though I do have something else in mind, should time permit. I should also mention that this is fairly mild in terms of romance. It's more of a private-affection-brought-to-light, or, "Blink and miss" as I think they're called. If I do anything else… well… rest assured there will be more in the way of snogging! Have fun!)

* * *

By noon, Yuffie was beginning to lose hope. 

Despite her best efforts, the fever did not break, and they were running out of water. She didn't want to leave him. Who knew what could happen while she was out, since the materia seemed to be doing so little good? For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, she pulled the blankets tighter around Vincent. His hands clenched beneath them, tensing with the rest of his body. Solemnly, Yuffie held his shoulders until the dream passed. She'd gotten used to them by now.

Cloud was late. He'd said "morning". It was early afternoon now. If he didn't arrive soon…

"Where _is _he?"

I--------I

Cloud circled around the busted bike in frustration. It just wouldn't start. It figured, being an hour away from the ferry across the sea, from Junon to Costa Del Sol, that something would go wrong. Some how nothing was ever that simple. Their luck really.

As a final effort Cloud turned toward the bike and gave it final, swift kick. In response the bike made a click and for a second there was a glimmer of hope, which was quickly cut down as the sword cases popped out.

_Fenrir_ promptly died, and he gave a low groan.

There was nothing left to do, he was going to have to push it to the ferry. Resigned, he shoved them closed and got to pushing. At least the rain seemed to have let up. Only now the sun was emerging, beating down on the struggling warrior.

_Just my luck… _

I-------I

She'd gotten some of the water into him. When she touched his face, it felt a touch less hot, though it remained paler than normal. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Sliding off the edge of the bed, Yuffie pulled her knees to her chest, fighting the urge to sleep. He needed her here—he'd admitted as much. She couldn't drift off until the blonde swordsman showed up. What she needed, was something to keep her awake, alert.

The pale glow of materia caught her eye. She needed no further prompting. In no time, she'd caught up three of the orbs, and had returned to his bedside, carefully juggling them. It took concentration, which was perfect, but not enough to keep her from hearing him, should the need arise.

Her mind wandered to his errand, the reason they'd run across one another in the first place. There was only one reason, that she knew of, why he would return to Nibelhiem. Even after two years, the thought of the locked, dusty basement made her shiver. Why on earth anyone, let alone someone she'd fought with, would want to lock themselves back up in such a place was beyond her. She frowned. Maybe there was something she was overlooking…

_I'll just have to follow_, she decided, appeasing the curiosity building within. _He'll never notice! And…_ she thought more somberly. _I can make sure he's _really _okay again…_

That was another issue. Sure, she could stay with him now, sitting up all day and night, enduring the nightmares and the sickness, until he recovered. But what about the next time? If Vincent could sicken once, she reasoned, he could do it again, somewhere she, nor anyone else, could follow. She couldn't follow him all the time.

_Or could I?_ No, he would be bound to notice. Even if she passed it off as his good luck, such a ruse could only last so long. Yuffie frowned, nearly dropping a materia in her thoughts.

_Why do I care so much—wait, stupid question._ She knew why she cared. Chances were, however, he did not. Or, if he did, he didn't care. Either way, it didn't do to give the Reason too much thought right now. Nothing could come of it anyway.

"What am I gonna do with you?" she asked him.

At first, she thought he was going to speak. Then, to her disappointment, the gasp he uttered turned into yet another spasm of coughing, this one shaking his lanky frame so badly his limbs jerked.

Setting down the materia, she moved to his side, waiting for the coughing to ease. When it didn't, she heaved a sigh, and slid an arm around his shoulders, maneuvering him up into a sitting position. Her free hand pounded his back. The fit lasted too long for her liking. When it finally passed, it left both of them with just enough energy to collapse against each other, the girl sprawled across his chest.

_I can't fall asleep…!_

Even as she willed them to stay open, her eyelids dragged closed, lulled by the sound of his breathing.

I---------I

"So then my dad was like 'We should start charging for the ferry.' And then that big meteor thing came out of the sky, so he put all the ferry business money into booze."

His head buried deep in _Fenrir_'s engine, Cloud didn't offer the girl a response. He'd made it to the boat with barely enough time to haul the bike aboard, only to discover the trip would cost him. A search of his pockets turned up only spare change, his phone, and an old, possibly expired candy. The captain growled, but, possibly recognizing his passenger, grudgingly allowed him passage. In return, however, it seemed Cloud was to be plagued with his far-too perky daughter.

She was hovering around him as he worked. No matter how little he acknowledged her, she refused to leave him alone. Perhaps the size of the vessel kept her so close. It was one of the smaller ones running the route, with only a handful of cargo, and a sparse collection of travelers such as himself. None of them showed their faces on deck, where he and the motorcycle had been stowed. Cloud aside, there probably wasn't much else to interest the girl—not that it gave her an excuse to pester him.

He pulled himself up, stretching. With any luck, he could get the thing running again before they reached land. He was going to be late… nothing he could do about that. At the rate the boat moved, they would be lucky to arrive before nightfall, leaving him with a lot of ground to cover after dark. Cloud bent again to the bike, stifling a sigh as the girl's voice took off again.

"That's why mom left after everything didn't end. So then dad was like 'We _really_ need to charge for the ferry'."

As he worked, Cloud vaguely wondered if all his tinkering would do any good. He hoped so. Cid was never around to fix things when you needed him.

"So that's a really cool bike. I've never really seen one like it before, except that one guy who saved the planet had one, you look a lot like him ya know, but yeah does it go super fast? I bet it does. How did it break? Did you run into something really dangerous or something?"

Now he answered, with a simple "No."

"Because there's a lot of weird creatures out there and one time I tried to catch one and _that's_ what happened to the first mate..."

With an accidental crack of knuckles, he pulled himself out of the engine again. That should have done it—either that, or the bike was now broken beyond all repair. At the very least, he should have gotten the sword release set. He reached across the front, pressing a small switch under the throttle. He gave an approving nod as the bike's multiple sheaths sprang out from their hiding places.

His satisfaction was short-lived. With a shriek, the captain's daughter leaped backwards from the bike, as the hilt of one of his swords nearly came in contact with her torso. She sprawled out on the deck, staring wide-eyed up at him. He turned back to the ignition. Maybe the shock would keep her quiet for the rest of the trip. Flipping the switch, he was rewarded with a sickly cough from the engine. It was a step up from smoking, at least.

"Wow!" she breathed. The word sounded dangerously close to a curse. "You scared me!" She scrambled to her feet. "Just like that one time when…"

Cloud closed his eyes, trying to drown her out with the clank of parts, as he bent once again to coax _Fenrir _back into working order.

I--------I

It was too early to answer the phone. Her pillow felt odd, ridged almost, beneath her cheek, but it was so comfortable, she didn't wish to move. She sighed, snuggling deeper into the pillow, trying to shift to sit in a way that did not leave her legs asleep.

_Five more minutes…_

Her pillow coughed.

Dark eyes flew open. It took her a few moments to orient herself, and still more to realize her pillow was, in fact, someone's chest. Further inspection, taking in pallid skin and black hair, revealed just whose chest it was. Yuffie jerked upright, throwing herself backwards, a thousand apologies falling from her lips.

Vincent's response was simply to shift slightly, sighing in his sleep.

She let out the breath she'd been holding. If he'd known she'd fallen asleep on the job, let alone on top of him, there'd be no keeping him. He would leave before she could tackle him to the floor. Leaning close, she looked for any sign of improvement, and found nothing.

Her phone rang again, loud and shrill in the stillness of the room. Flopping back to the floor, she pulled it out, examining the caller ID. An eyebrow rose. _Tifa? What's she want? _She glanced over at the sleeping patient, then flipped open the phone. Vincent could wait a few minutes… she hoped.

"Tifa?"

"Is everything all right?" The voice on the other end was worried. More so than usual.

"Uh…" Yuffie bit her lip. By most standards, no, things were not all right. But whatever had Tifa so uneasy would only be compounded by the truth. She opted for a slightly more tactful version. "Well, it will be. Once Cloud gets his butt over here."

"_He's not there yet?_"

With a yelp, Yuffie jerked the phone away from her ear. She'd forgotten how loud the other woman could shout. Cautiously bringing it back, she could hear the angry mutterings, most involving bodily harm and a certain, blonde swordsman. "Oops?" she added, unhelpfully. "Can't you just call him and ask him where he is?"

"I tried that," snarled Tifa. "His phone is out of range." She made it sound as if it were all Cloud's fault. A deep breath sounded. She was trying to calm down. "He hasn't called _you_, has he?"

"Nope." With a sigh of her own, Yuffie sat back on the edge of the bed. "I'd tell you if he had."

There was a pause. In the background, she heard a soft, childish question. Tifa murmured a response, then her voice returned. "How is he?" she asked.

"Tell Marlene he's fine."

Again, Tifa's voice faded into the background. There came a giggle, and the soft sound of small feet running. When she returned, she sounded far more concerned, speaking in hushed tones. "How bad…?"

Another sigh. "About the same as when I called you, only…" Yuffie trailed off, her eyes resting on her patient. "If Cloud doesn't get here soon…" She decided not to finish that thought. Things were going downhill too fast. It would have been fine, had Cloud actually kept his word and shown up. Her efforts were, for once, not enough to turn the tide.

"It'll be okay."

Unconsciously, she clenched a fist. Tifa was right. She knew Tifa was right. Even so, her hand slowly sought Vincent's, if only to remind herself that, yes, he was still there, albeit unconscious, beside her. The leather was cool to the touch—he'd kept the gloves, despite the change of clothes—and was not the most comforting thing. It had been going well… he was letting her in… and now…?

"Yuffie? Are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry!"

"Hang in there, okay?" said Tifa, her voice soft. "You're going to make it. Both of you." She paused, and Yuffie could almost hear her holding a hand to her forehead, musing. "I'm going to have to hang up… Just in case Cloud calls. If you need me, I'll be here, all right?"

After mumbled agreement, Yuffie hung up. The now-familiar weariness returned. Shaking it off, she stood, moving to rotate the cloths, exchanging the now-dry one on his forehead for the cool one soaking in the bowl. Holding the dripping fabric, she brushed her fingers lightly across his face, checking for any change. She didn't expect one. However, instead of heat, her fingers found his skin simply warm, almost cool to the touch.

The fever had broken.

Dropping the cloth, Yuffie promptly threw her arms around his shoulders. Now, her body shook, though the tremors were born of relief instead of illness. She squeezed him tight, as best she could, from her crouched position. Still asleep, he only tensed slightly at the touch. This time, she didn't care; she was too thankful to care. They were going to make it! Everything was going right again! Releasing him, she slid to the floor, picking up the materia for another round of juggling while she waited. Cloud would have a surprise when he showed up. He wasn't the only one who could save the day. Smugly, she leaned up against the wall, nearest Vincent's head, and waited for him to wake up.

As evening fell, so too did her cheerful mood.

Despite the lack of fever, despite all her efforts—shaking him, yelling at him, even splashing water in his face—Vincent would not stir. He coughed a few times, the effort still sending his body jerking across the bed, but would never rouse to wakefulness. Even when she pounded his chest, shouting in his ear, the best response she could hope for was a flinch.

She still held him down when he coughed. By this point, he'd ceased having nightmares. In the silence, part of her wished for them back. At least then, there was something to break the awful stillness. It was like watching over a corpse. Quickly, she pushed the thought away. He'd been in enough coffins for one lifetime.

When his breathing grew labored, Yuffie again brought out her things, sorting through until a fire materia was found. Blurry memories of campfires started with glowing orbs in hand, she carefully cast it on the bowl of water. Weary satisfaction overcame her fear for a moment, as steam slowly rose from the bowl.

Setting it down, and using both his cloak and shirt with his pillow, she shoved him into a position resembling one of sitting upright. She balanced the bowl in the vicinity of his chest. Her efforts were rewarded as, with the aid of the steam, Vincent's breathing began to ease.

Her nap wearing off, she sank back to the floor, letting her head come to rest again on the edge of the bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest was reassuring, even though he seemed determined to remain unconscious. Her fingers returned to twine with his. With each breath, she squeezed them, willing his next inhalation to turn into a yawn, followed shortly by the lazy blink of crimson eyes. Each time the strategy failed, she felt her heart sink.

_I got you this far, Vince_, she thought at him. _I saved your butt for this long… don't you dare keel over now… just wake up… Open your eyes and look at me!_

Suddenly, his hand tightened around hers, just once, just briefly. It was more of a twitch than it was a squeeze, but it sent her shooting to her feet all the same. Was it a sign? Was he waking?

Yuffie leaned over, taking his shoulders again, calling his name. Beneath pale lids, she could see his eyes moving about, shifting rapidly from one side to another, rolling up and down. Her heart raced.

"Vincent…?" she ventured. "Can you hear me…?"

With a low sound, almost a moan, he lay still again, sending her heart crashing to the ground. She swore vividly, sinking to her knees, thumping his shoulder feebly, and trying not to scream.

"What have you two been doing in here?"

The voice was so unexpected, Yuffie had to stifle a scream. She whipped her head around, blinking in the sudden light of the open door. A figure stood there, arms folded, regarding them with a vaguely amused expression. It wasn't until she caught sight his hair, gilded by fading afternoon light, that she knew who was intruding on their little world.

"Cloud you _ass_! Where _were_ you!"

One blonde eyebrow quirked as the ninja leapt toward him. Something akin to murder glinted in her eye and he stifled a sigh, bracing himself. However, the impact was much less than he expected. Her arms abruptly wrapped around his waist, squeezing tightly. For a moment, his balance wavered. Holding his arms out to steady himself, he leaned slightly away from the embrace, grimacing.

"Nice to see you too," he said dryly. Yuffie's brand of affection was not something he was quite prepared for. He kept his arms in the air, both trying to keep himself balanced, and maintain a distance that was at least somewhat comfortable.

"You two are awful about this stuff," she muttered into his shirt, voice choked. It sounded as if she were crying.

He glanced down. Indeed, her shoulders shook slightly, proving it. Awkwardly, he reached down with one hand, bracing the other on the doorframe, and patted her shoulder. She didn't answer, but loosened her grip on his waist. "How is he?" he asked, wanting to divert her attention.

Yuffie released him, fidgeting with her hands, all the while glancing between Cloud and the too-still form on the bed. "I got the fever down," she said. "But… that was this morning… he hasn't woken up since. He's not even having nightmares anymore…" Now she drifted over to the bed, still fidgeting, unsure of what to do next. "How're we going to use the water?" she asked, quiet now, in contrast to her usual moods. One of her hands sought Vincent's as she waited for a response.

"Hm." Cloud paused, thinking. The stigma had been a disease easily dispatched by simple contact with the church's water. This was different. Even so, as he looked down at the other man, an idea formed. It wasn't a particularly good one, but it would have to do.

He reached into a pocket, pulling the softly gleaming bottle from the depths, and moved towards his unconscious companion. Yuffie stepped aside, releasing Vincent's hand, but never taking her eyes off the two. Again, Cloud stopped. After some deliberation, he moved the bowl to the floor, frowning momentarily at the new attire Vincent currently sported, then awkwardly attempted to lift the dark head. He needed to find a position so as to pour the water down his throat without choking him.

The bottle suddenly left his hand. He turned, and met dark, irritated eyes. "You're doing it wrong," Yuffie said flatly. She elbowed him out of the way, deftly sliding a hand under Vincent's shoulders.

Cloud backed up, surrendering the job to her without resistance. Now, she sat behind him, supporting his upper body with hers. His head was tilted back, resting on her shoulder, while she slowly dripped the water down his throat. "It's the only way that works," she grumbled, not looking at Cloud.

He didn't answer, just kept his gaze on the room around him. If she wanted to baby Vincent, that was her business, not his. Besides, it felt awkward to stare. He looked instead for his missing materia. It was quickly located, nestled in a small pile beside the girl's things. Two, however, were sitting beside the bed. Cloud blinked.

"What happened to his shirt?" he asked, deadpan.

Yuffie's face flushed. "He changed," she said, sounding both indignant and embarrassed in the same breath. "He was all wet. So he changed. That's _all_." She glared at him, daring him to try and make something out of her statement.

Naturally, he elected to stay silent on the subject, instead leaning against the wall. Yuffie, having finished her job, gently eased herself out from behind Vincent, sitting back on the floor. She set the water down, and, drawing her knees to her chest, settled in to wait.

Silence fell again, this time awkward, as opposed to oppressive atmosphere of before. Yuffie rose often, checking Vincent, while Cloud merely reclined against the wall, his usual watchful self. The two were direct opposites of one another. While he stood still, she fidgeted constantly, reaching for materia to occupy her attention, only to pull her hand away when she belatedly realized she was no longer alone. Occasionally, she stood, pacing across the room before returning to her bedside vigil.

"What do we do if this doesn't work?" she murmured, mostly to herself.

Cloud opened his mouth to respond. Before he could form the words, a low groan silenced them both. Yuffie was on her feet in an instant.

"Vincent?" she practically shouted, leaning over him. "Are you…"

She didn't get to finish her sentence.

I---------I

_For as long as he can remember, he has been pounding his fists into the wall, its heat scorching them. His body hurts with each movement, but he will not cease. If he does so, he gives in to the enfolding dark. He occasionally glimpses things beyond the wall. Most often he sees faces, one in particular, concerned, leaning over him with pleas. _

_He pushes with all his waning strength. That face should not be so serious. Somehow, he knows he is the cause. If he can break this barrier, that face will smile once again. The wall stays put, not giving an inch._

_Exhausted, he feels himself begin to sink. He reaches out, grasping for the wall, willing his hand to grasp hold of something. It is the wrong hand. Instead of claws, his gloved fingers brush against the wall, failing to find purchase. He continues to fall._

_He doesn't know how long he is falling for. It is no longer hot, which is comforting, but the vertigo threatens the rise of nausea in his throat. There is nothing to see, nothing to feel, but the awful, dizzying sensation of the fall itself. He resigns himself to it. As time wears on, he finds himself adjusting. Falling itself is, after all, preferable to the inevitable impact at the end._

_It is then the pain begins. _

_Fire shoots through his veins, burning tendrils digging in each time he breathes, and then, even if he holds his breath. His muscles jerk, cries tearing their way from his throat. The pain holds his chest in a vice, threatening to crush him. Even the beat of his heart, racing now, shoots the fire further through his body._

_There is no resignation this time, only consuming agony._

I-------I

Both of them needed a minute to realize what was happening. Even Cloud spared a second to glance up, gathering his wits.

Still unconscious, Vincent's body had begun convulsing, limbs jerking in unnatural angles. He did not cry out, simply gasped at the air, mouth opening in silent screams. His clawed hand raked the bedcovers, snagging in the furrows. This was no simple nightmare.

Cloud was faster than she was, however, at Vincent's side before she could shout at him to move. He took the left side, keeping a careful eye on the claw attached to the arm he now grabbed, holding it and its shoulder steady in place. It was the main concern. If he clawed either himself or one of them in his thrashings, the result would not be pretty.

_At least he's not wearing those shoes._

Despite the differences in their statures, Cloud felt his grip on the other man slipping. Vincent kept shuddering away. He looked up.

Yuffie stood, frozen, her eyes locked on the scene before her. One of her hands covered her mouth, the other wrapped tightly over her chest. Tears glazed her eyes, painting them horrorstruck, liquid in their fear. She could only watch as her friend continued with his seizure, her heart trembling in her throat.

"Yuffie."

Dark eyes snapped up, meeting hard blue.

"Hold him."

Cloud's voice snapped her free of the paralysis. Mechanically, she moved to Vincent's other side, gripping his shoulder in counterpoint to the convulsions. She felt the tears coming, dripping down her face.

_This isn't right… this can't be happening…Not to him… _

She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see his face, contorted by pain. Nothing in the world should be able to leave him so vulnerable, so reduced to the twitching wretch she held down to the bed. The man she knew was immortal, was calm and self-assured, even while facing down a towering summon. The man she knew had nightmares, sure, but they didn't send him into writhing conniptions. This couldn't be the man she knew.

A particularly violent convulsion nearly pulled her arm from its socket. With an effort, Yuffie forced him back down, this time accidentally letting her eyes come to rest on his pale, anguished face.

She didn't want to admit it. Now she had no choice, looking straight at him. This _was_ the man she knew, this suffering, _mortal_ man lying in her grasp. She had to resist the urge to embrace him tightly, apologizing for something she didn't understand. Instead, she just held him down, shedding fresh tears for each new spasm.

_Don't you dare go out like this, Vincent! I'll never forgive you!_

As suddenly as it had begun, the seizure stopped.

Yuffie stifled a gasp, while Cloud merely grunted, stepping back. There was a tense silence. Both pairs of eyes remained trained on the body in the bed. Yuffie did not breathe, until red eyes fluttered open. Blearily, they sought his attendants, then squeezed shut, as if in disbelief.

"How long… was I out?" Vincent croaked.

The girl nearly melted. Never before had she been happier to hear that deep, growling voice. Words fled her. It was all she could do to keep from crying harder, tackling him. She just looked down at him, something similar to a grin forming on her face. "How're you feeling?" she managed, her voice nearly as hoarse as his.

He blinked. "I can't breathe," he announced. Then, quite promptly, sneezed.

It was too much. Cloud gave a smirk, but Yuffie fell to her knees, laughing harder than she had in days.

"I missed you, Vinnie," she gasped. "A whole lot."

(One more chapter left!)


	5. Shield

Note: FFVII isn't mine.

Last chapter! Sorry it's so short. Sometimes things just turn out that way. Anyway, thanks for sticking with this venture into the world of FFVII fiction!

* * *

The next few days passed peaceably enough, in contrast with the first twenty-four hours of fear.

For his part, Vincent was in far better shape, but, for those next days, remained abed, plagued by sneezing. The condition left his normally pale nose the color of his cloak, a fact which Yuffie delighted in pointing out. To her observations, he simply turned his head away, sighing. He made no attempts to get up, much to her liking, save for necessary excursions to the restrooms. Even then, he allowed her to accompany him, saying nothing to dissuade her. Most of the time, he spent in a doze, not noticing—or, perhaps, not caring—when she curled up on his legs, nodding off as well.

She, on the other hand, was busily playing the dutiful nurse. Vincent may have been out of the woods, but was obviously still too weak to be about on his own. In addition to fixing up his shirt, she brought food, staved off the innkeeper, and, somehow, managed to keep up a steady stream of one-sided conversation.

Cloud headed back to work, and Edge, as soon as he was assured that _Fenrir _was again in working order, and that Vincent was in no further danger. His departure, however, was met with none of the appreciation of his arrival.

"Where'd the materia go?"

At the tone of her voice, Vincent looked up. He gave a small shrug. "Cloud left while you were gone," he informed her.

"_He did _what!"

* * *

Somewhere, along a lonely stretch of road, a motorcycle roared. Its rider's face twitched into a small, satisfied smirk at the clink of materia in the bike's side pouch.

* * *

"Bastard."

Vincent wisely did not comment.

And thus, the days passed. Yuffie enjoyed the quiet, the company. Whether or not Vincent shared her sentiments was another matter. She liked to think he did. The monotony was broken by a few calls here and there, most of them Tifa and Marlene, checking in on them. Or, in the child's case, giggling at the sound of Vincent's recovering voice.

"You sound like you're talking with your nose plugged!" she'd informed him.

He only rolled his eyes in answer, prompting his nurse to peals of laughter, as she agreed wholeheartedly with the little girl.

Part of Yuffie never wanted this idyllic time to end. It was so comfortable, simply sitting with him, explaining just why it was unwise to hang upside down from unfamiliar pipes. There was a safety in this room now. No one was out there, trying to destroy the planet. No bizarre, larva clones were appearing. No illness was threatening their very lives. For once in a very long time, she could pretend they were normal people, living out their days without harassment.

Even as she tried to ignore it, most of her knew nothing so serious could end so neatly. So when his eyes cleared, the sneezing abated, and his gaze began to wander away from her antics, towards the cloak still hanging on the door, her heart sank.

All her earlier worries returned. Even if he'd allowed her close now, there was no guarantee he'd do so again, for her or for anyone else. She could not rid her mind of the image of him, lying in the thrall of a seizure, helpless. If it happened once, it could happen again—was her line of reasoning. Who would be able to help him then?

"Vince…?" The question, the plea, trembled on the edge of her lips. _Let me come too,_ she wanted to say. _Let me come too, so I can help…_

But, as the crimson eyes met hers, the words died.

_Stupid of me. Why would he say "yes"?_

"You should take a nap," she finished lamely, inwardly cursing herself.

* * *

It was funny how things always came full circle. This night was no different.

Around the same hour a ninja fell into his lap so many days ago, he sat up in bed, staring down at the same ninja, now curled in the same position, her head pillowed unknowingly against his hip. Just as she had so unceremoniously dropped back into his life, he fully intended to abruptly drop from hers. It was better that way. His problematic nose aside—still comically clogged, even after all his rest—everything worked well enough for him to leave.

The problem now lay in how to disentangle her from his legs. Why she'd taken to sleeping there, he had little idea. It made his plan all the more difficult.

Carefully, he eased his legs out from under her, swinging them over the edge of the bed. His feet made no sound as he stood. Behind him, Yuffie sighed, rolling over in her sleep. He relaxed a fraction. Maybe he'd overestimated her.

His things were just as she'd left them for him, the shirt folded on the dresser, next to the gun, the cloak hanging on the door over the boots. Silently, he pulled the clothes back on, sliding the gun back into the holster. The barest hint of a smirk flickered across pale lips at the familiar weight. All was going well, he felt.

"'cent…"

He froze. He neither moved, nor breathed, until she rolled over with a sigh, arms stretched out above her head, as if searching for him. Breathing a sigh of his own, he gripped the doorknob, then paused. Again, he looked down at the girl. A pang of guilt struck. Memories of her, bent over him, worry creasing her brow, flashed through his mind. Harsher, fresher, than the rest, loomed the image of tears filling her dark eyes, threatening to spill over.

As much as he disliked admitting it, she was owed far more than a quiet disappearance. Unfortunately, she was also owed more than he could give her.

In a smooth, practiced motion, he pried the materia free of his gun. Carefully, gently, the orb was pressed into her open palm, his fingers closing hers about it. Truth be told, it was an awkward gesture, one sure to bring about her wrath once she woke up. Money would have been seen as an insult, and he needed his cloak. It was all he could give her, really, in thanks.

Duty done, he turned back to the door, only to feel a tug. His cloak must have caught on the bedpost. Another tug actually jerked him back a pace. He frowned.

"So that's it? You're taking off? Just like that?"

When he looked back, Yuffie had released him, and was sitting up, looking at nothing but the gleaming orb in her hands. She turned it over restlessly.

"I have somewhere I need to be," he told her.

"You could have waited until morning," she retorted, glaring up at him.

He stared back, calmly. "You needed sleep more than a goodbye."

Her hands tightened around the materia. Neither spoke for a beat. Emotions warred in her eyes throughout the quiet, as she fought down the harsher words in favor of others. He approved. "I know what you'd say if I asked to come too," she said. "So… I won't."

Sensing a conversation, he settled against the dresser, folding his arms. If she wished to speak, who was he to stop her? "Why would you ask that?" he said finally.

Another glare. "You know why."

"There's no reason for you to worry," he told her. A shrug. "You said yourself, I'm fine now."

"I'm not talking about now!" One of her fists slammed into the mattress, hiding the trembling. She was fighting the tears. "I'm talking about… who knows when! When something like this happens to you, _again_…"

"What if it doesn't?" he countered. His tone was still calm, without any sense of argument.

"I _know_ it will…!" It was irrational, stupid, but she felt the resolve breaking. "I saw you… I thought you were…" She stopped the train of thought abruptly. "How am I supposed to know it'll be okay? How'm I supposed to know you'll be okay? And not… not…" She broke off, the image of his seizure returning to fill her mind. Suddenly, she couldn't look at him. If she looked… Instead, she focused on the sheets, on the warm orb crushed in her hand. Anything but him.

Just as suddenly, he was all she could see. He knelt in front of her, at her level, crimson gaze barely a shade below "worried". It was more expression than she'd seen in them before.

"Shall I make you a deal then?" Vincent asked. "Since it means so much to you."

Despite the words, his voice was the same, cool and nonchalant. Somehow, it reassured her, giving her more hope than what he spoke. She could only nod, biting her lip.

"If something does happen," he began, choosing words carefully. "you have my permission to come for me." A small crease of thought etched itself in his dark brow. "Does that work?"

"So… I'm only allowed to follow you if there's a good chance you're gonna get your ass handed to you? Or do you mean… you want me to show up when you're pretty much screwed?"

He blinked. "Something like that."

Quite unexpectedly, Yuffie reached out, grabbing his hand and squeezing. Out of reflex, he nearly pulled back, effectively yanking her off the bed. At the last moment, he relented. He did owe her quite a lot, after all. If in one small agreement he could repay the debt, so be it. Even if the terms of the agreement never came to pass. He doubted such a situation would ever arise. But… if she felt it necessary…

"I promise."

Jerked from his thoughts by the sudden solemnity of her voice, Vincent raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"I promise," she said again, a small, triumphant smile on her face. "that I'll always save your undead butt. I won't let you down, Vinnie."

He nodded and she released his hand. Again, he headed for the door. This time, she made no move to stop him, no move to ask _How will I find you?_ She would find a way, they both knew that. Before he set foot outside, however, she spoke up one last time.

"Doesn't mean you get your materia back though." The thieving flippancy returned to her voice. "What is it, Fire?"

When he failed to answer, Yuffie looked up. The doorway was empty, dark hallway echoing with only the faint _thump _of metal-shod footsteps and one, gruff, soothing word:

"Cover."

In the darkness, the ninja could only laugh.

* * *

Note: Personally, I enjoy that ending.

Also, thanks to the response to this fic, I've decided to write another. Be on the lookout! Tentatively titled as _Arrhythmia._ Yes, there will be angst and fluff and violence galore! Look for it this week, if time permits... Huzzah! Until next time!


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